The New Roommate
by BRBForgotMyRidingCrop
Summary: AU: John is studying medicine at uni, and with only 2 weeks until the start of his second year, John finds himself with no choice but to move in to 221b with an unusual roommate. Chapters are short because of time restrictions and I want to update often.
1. The New Roommate

**AN:  
><strong>A lot from the episode, sorry x) Next chapter has a bit of action ^^ Anyway it's my first fanfic so I really hope you enjoy it :3

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><p><strong>CHAPTER 1<strong>

It was not long before the new term would start at Queen Mary, and John Watson, a second year student in medicine, had the near-impossible task of finding affordable accomodation in the heart of London. "For fucks sake" he mumbled, staring at the ridiculously priced apartments, "How am I supposed to afford any of this?" his warm hand pressed on the cold glass window, and he grew frustated.

"John?" A familiar voice emerged from the bustling London crowds, escaping John's ears, "John!" He said again, louder. The voice caught the small student's attention and he kindly greeted the old acquaintance, "Mike Stamford! How are you?"

"Not bad," he noticed the apartment prices on the window beside the two, "You're still looking for a flat?" He smirked and continued, nudging John in a jesting manner, "Been partying too much over the hols?" John smirked with slight discomfort at the remark,

"Not quite, but yeah I really can't imagine where I could get a flatmate so late in the year." Mike bellowed at John, who was rather unsure of what started him off,

"You're the second one to ask me that today," he calmed down and motioned John to follow him, "Come on, I could introduce you if you want." John agreed, and the two went.

Arriving with John at the research labs of the university, he led John to the white, sterilized room, sure that the man would be here. John smirked at the familiar room, "It's been a while since I've been in this auld place eh?" he mumbled, mostly to himself,

Of course the one they were looking for was not at all difficult to find, for his desk was the only one cluttered and piled up with unmentionable experiments; all of them surrounding the tall, mysterious figure. "Mike, can I borrow your phone? No signal on mine." Finally protuded from the silent person.

"Sorry, left it at home."

"You can use mine," John kindly offered, and the male smiled thankfully and began tapping away on the keys of the Android phone. After a moment of silence, the student spoke, still using the phone,

"I play the violin when I'm thinking," John's face qrew puzzled at the seemingly random statement, "and I sometimes don't talk for days on end," he handed back the phone, smiling, "potential flatemates should know the worst about each other." John looked back and forth between the two,

"Did Mike tell me about you?" The only response he got was a disagreeing nod from Mike as he smirked at the dark-clothed male, who again begun to speak in his low baritone voice,

"Anyway, I hope your brother is doing well, and I guess I'll see you tonight at 6 for the flat then." He said, just as he made his way to the door-

"-Wait!" John exclaimed, feeling overwhelmed by the man, "Is that it? I don't know anything about you, not even your name and I don't even know where the flat is! How the hell are we supposed to even talk about a flat share?" He grew more agitated with each word, yet the stranger smirked while still hovering by the door,

"I know your a second year student here -studying something medical- I know you've been too busy to find accommodation because you were in Scotland with your family to look after your brother, who's in some sort of rehab, and I know you went more out of obligation because you disapprove of him, maybe because of the drinking, maybe because you like his wife- sorry it's probably ex-wife isn't it?" He finally took a breath, "Anyway, enough about you, the name is Sherlock Holmes and the address is 221b Baker Street." And with that, he left.

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><p>It was 6 o'clock sharp when John arrived just outside of the building, it looked pretty quaint, and it resided right next to a café. Bonus. After checking out the exterior, he finally knocked on the door, but there was no response. 10 minutes slowly passed, and John still waited to enter. Exiting from the café there was a small woman, most likely in her 50s, who approached him, "Ah! You must be Sherly's new flatmate!"<p>

"I'm not his flatma-"

She interrupted his pointless protest and continued, "He's upstairs already, you know what, I'll let you in."

The flat was much larger than he expected, and it's warmth palette was welcoming. Or at least it would be, if it got tidied up a little. And in one of the armchairs, laid the newly-acquainted Holmes, who's head tilted back as he dozed with a book resting below his chin, opened and partially-read.

Unsure of what to do, John decided to explore the flat. It was not long until peculiar website that remained on a laptop caught his eye, _"The Science of Deduction." _but it's dull contents quickly bored him.

"FLOP!"

The sudden noise of the book finally falling from Holmes' loose grasp had shocked John, leading him to watch the sleeping figure intently. The removal of the book didn't wake the man, but it did reveal the deep purple shirt as it contrasted with his ivory neck. His cheekbones jutted beautifully on his pale face, which was surrounded with luscious brown curls. As John continued to stare, his heart fluttered. _"No way."_ he thought to himself, jolting as he stumped his toe, "OW FUCK!" he yelled in pain, finally waking Sherlock.

"Ah you're here!" Sherlock slurred, still half asleep. Quickly, he jumped up and sorted himself out, "So, what do you think?"

"It's nice."

"Good, then you should be fine with my brother bringing your stuff down from Scotland."

"W-wait what? There is no way I would live with a psychopathic stalker!"

"I'm not a psychopath; I'm a high functioning sociopath. Do your research." He tutted in response, "and I didn't _stalk_ you, I simply _deducted_ from basic observations." His voice had an undertone of patronisation with it.

"Oh yeah, you mentioned something about that on your website, it was quite amusing," he paused for a moment to remember, "you said you could identify a software designer by his tie, and a retired plumber by his left hand."

Sherlock irked at John's amusement, "yes and I read your family history from your clothes and speech, and your brother from your phone."

"Yes how did you know that?"

"Simple." Sherlock's eyes sparkled as it was his chance to show-off, "Mike brings me an old friend after I said I needed a flat share, so that wasn't a big jump; I know you're a student, because, well, you said it "had been a while", so you'd been to the labs before, also meaning it has to be something medical; That lead me to question, _Why would you need a place so last minute_? Most likely because you've been busy, and you've gone away somewhere cold: you didn't have tan lines and you're wearing surprisingly little on such a bitter day: and when you came in you used the world "auld", so it's Scotland." He took a quick breath. "You're looking for a flat share, and so last minute, so a leisurely holiday doesn't seem right - gotta be a family thing, which leads me to your phone, a new phone, a young man's phone; and it's scuffed, and it probably being the most expensive thing you have on you, you'd treat it more carefully- so the previous owner didn't care for it. Then there's the engraving _"To Harry - From Kara xxx"_ too many kisses for just a friend, and it's expensive, so wife. But you have it, scratched, so he didn't want it - he left her. Also, scuff marks by the charger port, so when he plugs it in to charge it every night his hands aren't sturdy- You never find these marks on a sober man's phone and you never see a drunk's without it. So to sum up, you've been away to Scotland helping your alcoholic brother after a tough relationship with his wife/ex-wife. Miss anything?"  
>John stood in awe for a good couple of minutes, his mouth agape, before he could speak, "That was... Amazing."<p>

"Really? That's not what people usually say."

"What do they usually say?"

"Piss off." The two chuckled together in their flat, _"Maybe university will be more interesting with this Sherlock Holmes. Not that I have much other choice."_ His heart fluttered again and he blushed slightly at the thought of it,_ "NO. YOU DID NOT JUST THINK THAT."_


	2. A Study in Sociopaths

**AU:  
><strong>Chapter 2 :D Next chapters will be a bit slower, sorry x Mild masturbation scene ;)  
>Any ideas for a title are greatly welcomed!<p>

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><p><strong>CHAPTER 2<strong>

It took two days of nagging before John finally agreed to live in 221b, mostly because Sherlock had brought in John's belongings while he was asleep. Although Sherlock had forced John to live there, John saw and knew little of his dark-haired roommate; He left early in the morning, and when he arrived late in the evening he spoke very little, and was often lost in his thoughts. John made several attemps to bond with him, but all he got in return were refusals, and grew more and more tired of his stoic flatmate. Waking up unusually early one day, John took advantage of this 'oppurtinity' and decided to do some light-hearted stalking:

_6:30 :- Wakes up, has coffee for breakfast, but doesn't eat anything, I think he's in a hurry. I wonder if he ever eats._

_6:45 :- Leaves house._

_7:00 :- Goes to the public library - studying for something, I think it's a book in toxicology._

_8:30 :- He's still studying. He looks strangely normal when he studies._

_10:00 :- STILL bloody studying._

"John?" A sudden voice called out as John lifted his head of the library's table, unaware of his slumber,

Shit. It was Sherlock.

"Um..." John quickly hid his notes before continuing, "Oh hi," he smiled, trying to look innocent, "Fancy seeing you here."

"Mmm..." He eyed John suspiciously, knowing it wasn't a simple coincidence.

"So... where are you off to?"

"Speedy's, having lunch. Would you like to join me?" _What was this? Sherlock actually inviting him? _He definitely could not pass up this chance.

They arrived at Speedy's at around 2 in the afternoon; Sherlock must have been studying for almost 7 hours. They sat down by the window of the dainty café, and a small framed waitress handed them a small menu each, "Food looks nice." John said, trying to start a conversation, but Sherlock only responded with a curt "Mm..."

And then there was an awkward silence.

As John racked his brains trying to find a way to kill the silence successfully, Sherlock chuckled to himself,"What is it?" John asked,

"Nothing _detective,_" Sherlock's joked, "What do you mean when you say I look _normal_ when I study?" He revealed the pinched notebook containing John's 'research' as his laugh grew. Embarrased, John tucked his red face sulkingly into his jacket,

"It's 'cause you usually look so cold," he mumbled, "And when you were reading, you looked really warm and happy..." His eyes darted to the floor from discomfort, while Sherlock leaned forward - the laugh turned into a mischievous smile,

"You know what would really make me war-" He was cut off by the petite, boisterous waitress,

"You ready to order?" She said impatiently as she chewed her gum obnoxiously loud,

"You know what, I'm not hungry any more." Sherlock said, quickly leaving the café.

_"What was that about?"_ John wondered before the waitress pressured him into ordering - just because Sherlock wouldn't eat, doesn't mean he can't.

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><p>Sherlock returned to the flat quickly, his pulse racing at the sight of John's blushed face. The thought of John paying so much attention fed his childish ego, and he wanted more of John, so much more. Warmth spread his body, and quickly reached his nether regions. Darting towards the shower, the urge to relieve himself was overwhelming. "Fuck, why are you so damn cute?" He murmured to himself in the shower as he stroked his throbbing manhood. Thoughts of John panting for more; craving Sherlock, needing Sherlock. Beads of sweat were washed away as the shower rained upon him. "John, john..." he panted to himself repeatedly, until eventually he made his white release. The immense relief made Sherlock's legs buckle, causing his hands to press upon the wall for stability and he stayed motionless waiting for his heart to calm down.<p>

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><p>John returned to his new flat not long after Sherlock and he sat down in his armchair, watching TV with the hum of the shower in the background. <em>"Jeremy Kyle,"<em> he thought, _"God this shit is so lame,"_ and he soon begun the habitual motion of channel surfing. The hum stopped and from the bathroom emerged a more relieved Sherlock, his chest was bare and his damp hair was out of his face, revealing his piercing blue eyes. Sherlock froze for a brief moment at the sight of the man he had just pictured in the most seductive poses, and the two gazed at each other in silence.

"Ahem.." John coughed, breaking the stare, "Nice shower?"

"Umm.. yes, fine thanks." he retreated into his room and John stared blankly at the TV, remembering the sultry image Sherlock had just left him with. _"Holy shit,"_ he thought to himself, while his heart pounded and his face grew hot. Suddenly, reality kicked in and he soon pushed away those thoughts and resumed to watching trashy daytime TV.

_"That wasn't anything, just forget it."_


	3. A Case of Misidentity

**AU:  
><strong>Awkward chapter x) I enjoyed writing this :P enjoy!

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><p><strong>CHAPTER 3<strong>

"Mike,"

"Yeah?"

"Can you set me up with a blind date?"

"Why?"

"Please. Tonight, at 7 in the Criterion."

"Fine, I'll try, but it is a bit last minute, so don't hold your breath."

"Cheers." John hung up his mobile and chucked it onto his bed. He was in a really shit mood. A restless sleep filled with the images of Sherlock wearing only a towel had left John with one thought, _"I really need to get laid."_

As he exited the room he saw a yawning Sherlock with unkempt hair, staring off into the distance. His buttons were one out at the top, and his eyes were only half open; his sleep couldn't have been any better. "Bad sleep?" He asked, trying to strike up a conversation,

"I guess you could say that," he responded, snapping out of his trance and returning to his newspaper. Would John ever be able to sustain a proper conversation with this languid guy?

Even after his 'investigation', John knew very little of Sherlock Holmes, except that he had the most peculiar range of knowledge. He had a vast understanding of the most peculiar things, but knew very little of what seemed like common sense to John - like how the earth went around the sun.

"I couldn't care less if we went round the sun, the moon or round and round the garden like a teddy bear!" Sherlock yelled in response, agitated, "I only remember what is useful, not _'Who is dating who'_ or any other nonsense like that. It has no use to me."

Aha, a clue.

_Knowledge of pop culture: None  
>Knowledge of astronomy: None<br>Knowledge of philosophy: None  
>Knowledge of politics: Feeble<br>Knowledge of toxicology: Assuming its vast - does a lot of research on it  
>Knowledge of anatomy: Quite good - not very systematic<br>Knowledge of botany: Nothing practical  
>Knowledge of general chemistry: Very profound<br>Knowledge of law: Fair  
><em>

_Doesn't seem to be that athletic - Plays violin  
><em>

_Forensics maybe, Law? - Too lazy._

"Lazy? That's not very nice." Sherlock said with a smirk on his face as he peered over the investigative roommate, who jolted at his suprise appearance, "You could just ask."

"Yeah, but you hardly ever talk," John sighed and asked anyway, "So, what is it that you're studying?"

"Pathology." _Pathology?__ Why would he need law or botany for that?_ Nevertheless, John was happy that he finally learned something about him. "Wanna eat out tonight? There's a great chinese down the road." Sherlock asked him,

"Sorry, I've got a date tonight." John felt slightly disappointed that he had to pass up this rare invitation,

"A date?" Sherlock irked,

"Yeah, you know when two people who really like each other go out and do something fun."

"That's what I was suggesting."

"It's not quite the same, anyway Mike is setting me up with someone." His phone rang from his bedroom, and he quickly checked his texts before continuing, "Ooh, someone called Jamie." A grin grew on his face as anticipation grew from within him.

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><p>John had waited for his date for 15 minutes, re-reading his text for the hundredth time:<p>

_I'll meet you outside, I'll be wearing a red corsage :)  
>Mike's told me all about you, I can't wait 3 xx<br>_  
><em>"A red corsage? How old school."<em> He chuckled to himself as he tried to picture what his date would look like. Suddenly, from the distance, a red corsage hit his eye and he examined his date-to-be: _Blonde hair, green eyes, pale skin, shorter than him, thin... male. Shit._

Jamie approached him with a kind smile, making John's heart sink as he decided how he'd break the news. It was several hours into of the evening, and John was still squirming in his seat at every advance the male threw at him. _"SHIT. How am I supposed to do this."_ He thought to himself in a panic, when suddenly there was an outburst from his date,

"You hate me!" He said, with his face buried into his hands, John patted the poor guy's shoulder to comfort him as he finally broke the news,

"It's not that..." he looked away, gathering up his courage, "I'm just... not gay." Jamie looked at him in shock and embarrasment,

"I'm so so sorry!" Jamie's face turned a very bright shade of red, and the two swiftlly settled the evening - with John paying of course.

Waving good bye to his 'date' as he entered the taxi, John rang his friend in a fury, "What the hell was that Mike?"

"Not your type?"

"Not my ty- OF COURSE NOT."

"Oh, why not? He was shorter than you n' all!"

"I'M NOT GAY! Goddammit Mike, I've known you for years, how could you think I was gay?"

"Your roommate told me."

"Sherlock?" John built up with rage as he stormed off to confront his meddling roommate.


	4. A Scandal in Baker St

**AU:** Thank you so much for all the support so far :) It's made me so happy that you guys like what I've written ^^

Bit of a fluffly chapter, with minor drama :) Next chapter contains a lot of fluff and progress x

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><p><strong>CHAPTER 4<strong>

John slammed the door furiously as he entered 221b, mumbling to himself how he was gonna get Sherlock back for this, and how it was just "bloody unacceptable." However, as he entered the flat, he found himself surrounded in darkness. It was only eleven, and Sherlock's odd sleeping habits meant that he was most likely out. _"Dammit." _John thought as he tried to bury his anger, _"__Now I can't bloody give him a piece of my mind."_ He collapsed in his armchair, exhausted from the evening, and watched TV.

"Jooohn!" A meek voice yelled out, John ignored it for a moment, thinking it was the TV. "Joooooohn!" The whine was from Sherlock's room. Still furious, John entered the dark room, preparing to lecture Sherlock. His plan was interrupted as he observed the curious figure, who was lost in his thoughts,

"Are - are those nicotine patches?" He notice several goin up each arm, "How many do you need?"

"As much as is necessary." He turned his lost gaze to John and continued,"Can you pass me my phone?" His phone was on his bedside table, which was about 3 feet away from him.

"ARE YOU BLOODY KIDDING ME?" John snapped, "YOU ARE ABSOLUTELY UNBELIEVEABLE!"

"I hardly think it was an unreasonable request." Sherlock replied calmly, which did not help the rubbed his eyes agitatedly whilst taking a deep breath, and decided to use a more calmer tone,

"Not only have you managed to convince half of London THAT I AM GAY, you now want me to get you your phone WHICH IS BLOODY NEXT TO YOU."

"You're not gay?"Sherlock asked, genuinely surprised and with a hint of disappointment,

"NO I'M NOT." The calmer approach didn't last long for John,

"Oh, apologies then. I just thought you were because you were stalking me like an infatuated teenage girl," Sherlock replied with a sneer.

"I JUST WANTED TO FIND OUT WHO I WAS LIVING WITH YOU UNSOCIABLE PRICK." He yelled in frustration as he left the room,

"Phone, John." Sherlock reminded John, who then threw Sherlock's phone at him with some force before locking himself in his own room. Sherlock chuckled slightly at the drama queen, but soon felt a knot in his stomach. It was an odd sensation that he had hardly ever felt, _guilt_. He knocked on John's door, no response. "John." There was still no response, "John, I'm sorry." Sherlock sighed uncomfortably, he really didn't know how to act in these sort of situations. "I'm gonna stay here until you respond John." John still didn't reply, and regret grew inside Sherlock.

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><p>John woke up, still in the clothes worn from the date; he had fallen asleep by accident after the fight. As he opened his bedroom door, a loud thud erupted as the snoozing Sherlock fell infront of him, "Ah!" the impact of the fall had woken Sherlock up with a surprise, and he stared at John with apologetic eyes. This time John was the one feeling guilt, <em>he was actually serious.<em> "Sherlock, it's alright. I forgive you." He couldn't stay mad after the face Sherlock made, "Wanna grab some breakfast at Speedy's?" They both shared a tender smile for a short moment before John made his way to the shower.

The two conversed at Speedy's and John finally learned about his mysterious roommate. He saw a more human side as he heard about his brothe Mycroft, his goal to be a 'consultant detective' and about how he help Mrs. Hudson with her husband's trial. He much preferred this Sherlock to the moody pillar that he had seen every day. As his gargantuous breakfast was served, he noticed the miniscule coffee which was Sherlock's 'breakfast', "Is that it?" John asked,

"Is what it?"

"That's your breakfast? Just a coffee - Sherlock do you ever eat?"

"Not when I'm working, digestion slows me down."

"Just eat something, it's not right. Here." He handed some buttered toast to Sherlock, his concern clear on his face. Sherlock blushed slightly at the attention and accepted the offer.

As the two laughed and chatted, a familiar face had popped up and stared at John, "How could you?" exclaimed Jamie, making a scene, John stared at him, dumbfounded, "You said you were straight!"

"I am!"

"Then what do you call this?" Jamied retorted whilst gesturing at the two,

"Breakfast." John replied. Sherlock chuckled slightly before interrupting,

"I'm sorry... Jamie, but this is honestly just an innocent breakfast between roommates, now please leave, you're making a scene." Sherlock gave Jamie a cold stare. Embarrased, Jamie left, leaving the café with a short interlude of awkward silence.

"Thanks Sherlock," John exhaled and the two giggled childishly.


	5. The Adventure of the Cooking Man

**AU:** Extra fluffy chapter :) This was a lot harder to write for some reason x but, as I promised, some progress with the two :)

Temporary name, suggestions still greatly welcome x)

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><p><strong>CHAPTER 5<br>**

Only a few days until uni would start, _"Why now?__"_John thought as he woke up in is bed. His head ached, his body felt hot and his chest was sore, "Sherlock," he exlaimed meekly, "Sherlock!" Swiftly Sherlock ran to his aid, and his soft eyebrows furrowed with concern,

"John, what's wrong?" He saw the small student curled up in his bed, his chest heaved as he breathed laboriously. He turned to face Sherlock in his bead, revealing the beads of sweat that made his sandy hair cling to his face.

"Can you get me some water? And a paracetamol please if you can." Sherlock was swift in bringing John his request. As he watched John take his medicine, he sat by the bed, desperate to help him. He sat in silence observing John, searching is mind palace for any other way to help him,

"Stay here, I'll make you something," John couldn't quite believe what he heard, _Sherlock make something, as in **cook**? _John waited in trepidation, unsure whether the food would help or sicken him further. It was quite a wait, and thoughts of Sherlock setting something on fire or cutting off a digit or two. Using all of his strength, he climbed out of bed and made his way to the kitchen, where he saw a peculiar sight:

Sherlock, in an apron, cooking.

John erupted with chesty laughter which soon turned into a fit of coughing. At the sudden outbreak of noise, Sherlock ran to John and quickly sat him down in his armchair, "You should rest John." he urged before handing him some of his homemade soup.

"What is this?" John eyed the soup suspiciously,

"Chicken soup with a twist." Cautiously, the sick roommate took a spoonful. It was revolting. However, as he saw Sherlock watching his reaction he choked down the soup and plastered a smile,

"D-delicious." He carried on eating the soup, not wanting to seem ungrateful to him. "What's in this exactly?" he said swiling the mysterious chunks in the soup,

"Chicken, for cysteine; Yoghurt, for Lactobacillus reuteri; Dark honey, for antioxidants; Lemon, for saliva stimulation and vitamin C and Oatmeal for zinc." He had made chicken soup sound like some sort of witched potion and John, all of a sudden, was not surprised about the outcome of its flavour or texture. As he eventually consumed the questionable concoction, he returned to his bed, feeling worse than before.

Sherlock sat by John's bedside in silence while John slept, as if it would help him heal. John's sleep was restless as the fever kept swinging him between bouts of heat and cold, and his sore chest was no aid. As he tossed and turned, he felt the repercussions of his meal build up in his stomach. Even though he was ill and weak, he dashed to the bathroom with considerable speed in order to relieve his nausea. As he face the toilet, he felt a touch on his back; Sherlock was still there, still trying to help - Although this was now partially his fault.

"What my soup that bad?" Sherlock said in a deep chuckle. He was warmed by John's effort to eat it, but he could tell it was not the most palateable soup to say the least.

"It was pretty rank to be honest." John joined him in laughter as his stomach cooled down. Sherlock tenderly aided John back to bed and tucked him in.

John returned to his queasy slumber. Moaning in pain, his temperature increase and it seemed his ailment would not go without a fight. Sherlock felt a pang of guilt as if it was all his fault, that maybe he could have prevented it. In another attempt to help the bedridden roomate, Sherlock headed for the kitchen,

"Wh- where are you going?" John said as he weakly grabbed Sherlock's arm,

"Kitchen,"

"Oh god, no more soup please," John said jestfully,

"No, just some tea," John sighed with relief,

"No sugar please, and come back soon."

As Sherlock made the tea, John felt calm in having the pale man give comfort the whole time, and he chortled to himself whilst remembering the sight of Sherlock in an apron. It was not long before Sherlock returned, "Can you pop it on the table please," John eyed Sherlock as he did as he requested. He had a dark, chiseled, amatory appearance. John's heart paced, and he found himself pulling Sherlock towards him and locking lips in a deep kiss.

Now, John could not tell whether it was the heat, or the fever, or the soothing familiarity of Sherlock's face, or how long it was since his last time, and to be honest he didn't care. All he knew is that he was kissing Sherlock, and that it felt good. His hot tongue danced with Sherlock's and he moaned with pleasure. Sherlock reciprocated the kiss, unsure and confused. Sherlock lifted John's clammy top, breaking the kiss to move down on his roommate. John, although the one to initiate the embrace, he had become surprisingly unresponsive. Sherlock checked up on John, only to find out he had fallen asleep in an ill daze. The shock of his action led Sherlock to swiftly retreat into his room, filled with regret and fear that he may have jeopardised his relationship with him.


	6. The Name Game Part 1

**AN:** Again, thank you for all the favourites and subsriptions ^^ It makes me all warm and fluffy knwing that other people like what I write x

Short chapter, but I wanted to end it on a cliffhanger ;)

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><p><strong>CHAPTER 6<br>**

John had hardly ever seen Sherlock for the past few days. If it weren't for the occasional addition of a body part in the fridge or an unwashed mug in the sink, he probably wouldn't have been able to tell he was there at all. Even when he was present, he was cold and aloof to John, often retiring into his room without a word; It was like the past two weeks had never existed. As John washed the tea-stained mugs in the sink, he sighed heavily at the sudden regression in their relationship. He thought long and hard as to what may have caused the growing void, but his cold, that he had only recently recovered from, led to a lack of clarity towards any occurences within the past week.

John and Sherlock's second year of uni quietly arrived, without any progression between the two. The first week proceeded, slowly, quietly and without any happenings and John was getting fed up and hurt by his austere roommate.

* * *

><p>It was the first lab in the year, but Sherlock was not excited. He sighed as he arduously carried out insturctions, his heart still ached with guilt and his already restricted emotions had dulled,<p>

"Sherlock, are you ok?" asked his mousy lab partner, Molly, as she smiled at him. He looked at her briefly before returning to inspect his microscope,

"Fine." he said coarsely,

"Tell me what's wrong," she persisted. He looked at her in annoyance, still gripping the microscope,

"I said I was fine Molly,"

"I know you're not Sherlock," she placed her hand gently on his back for comfort, "You can tell me,"

"What would telling you do?" he retorted, "I don't need warm milk and a hug, that's all unecessary nonsense that you dull people do to wallow in self-pity while you fish for compliments." He gave her a cold stare and returned to his work. Molly smiled, although hurt by the bitter remark, and the rest of the session continued silently with an acrid atmosphere.

* * *

><p>John's day at university went on mechanically as his mind was constantly filled with thoughts of Sherlock. The lectures went by slowly, and his hand ached from taking notes. He waved good bye to his friends, and sighed heavily whilst making his way home; he hated how lonely Sherlock made him feel. It was a cold day, and John hated the public transport; if only he had brought enough cash for a fare. The air was crisp, and the light of cars passing glistened on the pavement. As he walked down the street, he was met with an queer sight: the pavement had been blocked off for a good 100 meters for roadworks, but there was not a soul on site. Not wanting to kick up a fuss, he decided to accept it and took the quieter, alternate route. Although quieter, the route was in no way attractive; Sloppy graffiti splattered grey walls, and gum coated the floors. As John contiued the detour, he didn't have much time to take in the scenery before he felt the pressure of a damp cloth on his face and the inability to stay conscious.<p>

* * *

><p>Sherlock had stayed out, wandering aimlessly. He couldn't bring himself to go home, he couldn't see John's face just yet. As he took in the city air, he felt the buzz of a new text message:<p>

_I WANT TO PLAY A GAME SHERLOCK HOLMES._

Before he could make any sense of it, he had recieved another,

_I'VE BEEN ON YOUR SITE, YOU LIKE CODES DON'T YOU SHERLOCK?_

He texted simply "Of course." in reply and strolled to Regents Park, waiting for his mysterious texter to respond. It was getting dark, and Sherlock tightened his scarf as the temperature dropped and each breath brought out warm puffs of condensation. As he reached the gated of the Park, he finally recieved the vibration in his pocket that he had been waiting for.

_WELL HERE'S ONE FOR YOU THEN:  
><em>_"Gary made a phone call for his friend Oliver. But he was away, so his PA Haley took the message for Oliver, which meant the message was sent to his company in Manchester, called EditorKeys. The message told him to get his cousin Nelson's sister, Ophelia, to Waterloo station._  
><em>SO THE QUESTION IS SHERLOCK, WHAT DO YOU DO NOW?<em>


	7. The Name Game Part 2

**AN:** Anyone who reads FMA may recognise the code I used x) Anyway, I hope you like the chapter :D The case I mention below is real if you want to Google it up x)

* * *

><p><strong>CHAPTER 7<strong>

The solution was almost instantaneous for Sherlock. It was such a tedious text with seemingly no point, However it had an unusual involvement of proper nouns. This was a fairly old code that was used to send secret messages over the phone, without the fear of suspicion from spying 3rd parties. He took his note book out from his bag and jotted them down:

_Gary__, Oliver, Haley, Oliver, Manchester, EditorKeys, Nelson, Ophelia, Waterloo station_

He then took the first letters, adding breaks where he saw the sentences end:

_"GO/HOME/NOW"_

The satisfaction of completing the puzzle in a matter of minutes didn't last long; John would've been home and that meant that it was likely that he was in trouble. He wasn't too far from 221b, and he ran as fast as his legs could take him. He stopped briefly in front of the familiar, black door and gasped for breath after his unexpected work out. Then, in an effort to keep up appearances he took a deep breath, calm down and smoothed his disheveld clothing down. He finally and carefully opened the door, which was already unlocked as he had anticipated.

The flat felt unusually cold and dark, no one had been here for a while. He inspected the rooms, but nothing seemed to have been moved or changed, except from a curious old Walkman CD player that was placed on the table in plain sight; someone obviously wanted him to listen to it. Inserting the earphones, the sound of country music filled his ears; he despised country music. As he cringed at the music, Sherlock jotted down the lyrics with the feeling it would help him make progress:

_Well I saw you with another_  
><em> It made me lose my mind<em>  
><em> Shot you with my '38<em>  
><em> And now I'm doin' time<em>  
><em> And you put me here<em>  
><em> You put me here<em>  
><em> Well there's no way to doubt<em>  
><em> There ain't no two ways about it<em>  
><em> As sure as your name's Kate<em>  
><em> You put me here<em>

"Kate.." he mumbled to himself, the previous riddle had a theme of names, so he was almost certain that this name would also play a part to solving a riddle. As he jotted the name down, the sharp shock of realisation hit him - John wasn't home. As if it was planned, another buzz came from his phone:

_GUESS WHAT I HAVE SHERLOCK :) I'LL GIVE YOU A CLUE: JAM AND WOOL.  
>DON'T WORRY THOUGH, IF YOU HURRY YOU CAN SAVE HIM x<em>

Sherlock held back the panic that brewed within him, for it would not provide any help in solving the puzzles. He breathed deeply and placed his hands together and begun to think through what he was given. _"A CD player? Why not an MP3?"_ He lept with realisation and opened the case, only to find another list of names written on the top of the otherwise blank CD:

_Sir Galahad, Sir Lancelot, Sir Gawain, Sir Percivale, Sir Lionell, Sir Bors de Ganis, Sir Kay, Sir Tristram de Lyones, Sir Gareth, Sir Bedivere, Sir Bleoberis, La Cote Male Taile, Sir Lucan, Sir Palomedes, Sir Lamorak, Sir Safer, Sir Pelleas, Sir Ector de Maris, Sir Dagonet, Sir Degore, Sir Brunor le Noir, Le Bel Desconneu, Sir Alymere, and Sir Mordred._

"The knights of the round table?" his face irked with puzzlement, "Knights?" he paused for thought: _the whole theme so far was names, so was he being given another_ _name?_ "OF COURSE!" he yelled, even though no one was there, "KATE KNIGHT!" It was an old case in 2008 of a woman that poisoned her husband with anti-freeze. Her creativity amused him, and it stayed in his mind because of it. _"Kate Knight, anti-freeze."_ He replied to the texter before trying to work out his next clue.

The word _anti-freeze_ lingered in his mind as he thought of John, he longed for his safety and he had never felt so alone before, "John.." slipped from his mouth as he waited.

Buzz.

This time, it was just a photo of a car.


	8. The Name Game Part 3

**AN:** Woah, 8 chapters? (Yeah they're short but that doesn't count lol). THIS CHAPTER TOOK TOO LONG. I forgot what I was about to write like 20 times, so I'm sorry for that wait (next time I'll make notes lol)

* * *

><p><strong>CHAPTER 8<strong>

It was a fairly retro car that had been abandoned for quite some time, and luckily enough the license place was mostly visible. Although he himself had a limited knowledge about cars, he knew someone who could help,

"What is it Sherlock?" said the voice on the phone,

"Lestrade, I need you to help me locate a car." Lestrade was a young, but very capable DI who was respected by his peers,

"Why?"

"It's important." A large sigh was heard on the phone and Lestrade continued,

"I'll be over in a second."

It was not long until a fairly tall man with brown, but greying, hair emerged from the door of 221b. Lestrade, although only 25, was a repectable DI with eyes that only showed determination; He was a man you could trust, and Sherlock did just that.

The two took no longer than an hour before they found the car, due to its age and rarity. It was empty, as Sherlock had thought, and was located in the middle of nowhere. It had taken a while before Sherlock and Lestrade found anything in the car,

"Sherlock," Lestrade said whilst stretching his back, which ached from arching for too long, "All I can find are these papers," he handed Sherlock a wad of crumple, faded paper that was barely legible,

"Great!" Sherlock exclaimed with smile appearing on his face, he took the papers from Lestrade and examined them closely with his pocket magnifying glass, the letters had faded with age and were almost illegible. His face contorted slightly as he tried to make out some of the words.

"Sophie Pallett." He said after a long moment of silence.

"Sorry, what?"

"The owner of the car, her name was Sophie Pallett" he held up a piece of slightly sepia paper, "it says it here."

"So what?"

"Another name." Sherlock said, mostly to himself, ignoring Lestrade. "How old would you say this car is?"

"80s, definitely mid 80s" He exclaimed in realisation and begun tapping on his phone. Lestrade stood in silence, he knew that questioning Sherlock at that moment would reveal no answers.

"I know where to go!" Sherlock's face was beaming,

"What is it then?" Lestrade finally asked,

"Her name." Sherlock started, "This person has kept on sending me puzzles to do with names. The first code, the song, and the knights, all leading towards names." Sherlock smirked, "This car, all we find is another name, Sophie Pallett." He paused for a moment "After checking the DVLA records, I have found that this car has barely left London and it's second owner was the only one with that name. So what I need to find is a Sophie Pallett that was born in the early 70s, at the youngest, and lives within a close reach of London" he showed his phone to Lestrade, showing only two results, one was born in '69 and the other '95.

"Then what?"

"We go to her house."

* * *

><p>They arrived at a small cul de sac on the outskirts of North London, and they arrived at the front door of a quaint house. As they entered, a cold, dark air encapsulated them, along with the unmistakable scent of death. The stench grew the further they entered the house, and eventually they found the source:<p>

A 40-something year old woman, cold, pale and dead.

"Good god." Lestrade exclaimed, holding a sleeve to this nose in an attempt to stifle the smell. After calling for the forensics team to arrive, Lestrade allowed Sherlock to inspect. The woman was covered in shallow cuts,

"Suicide." A slimy looking man told Sherlock,

"No, Anderson." The man gave Sherlock an annoyed stare, "These cuts are too recent, they've only recently scabbed. They must've been done to make her look suicidal."

"Then this isn't a suicide note?" Anderson retorted, handing him a small folded piece of paper:

_Up until now, I have tolerated life,  
>Painful and cold,<br>So here is my answer,  
>To end all of my troubles,<br>And  
>I will soon join the angels,<br>Rejoice for it is  
>Soon.<em>

_Sure I may seem_  
><em>Happy and calm,<em>  
><em>Even to those I am close to,<em>  
><em>Really, I am sad,<em>  
><em>Lost and lonely, I<em>  
><em>Only leave apologies, and a<em>  
><em>Cold body while I<em>  
><em>Kindly float to the sky.<em>

Sherlock chuckled to himself, "Sometimes you amaze me Anderson."

"Really?"

"Yes, at how you've kept this job, I simply don't know." He showed Anderson, who was stifling his rage, the note again, "Look at the first letter of each line." Anderson's mouth grew agape as he saw the hidden message:

_**U**p until now, I have tolerated life,  
><strong>P<strong>ainful and cold,  
><strong>S<strong>o here is my answer,  
><strong>T<strong>o end all of my troubles,  
><strong>A<strong>nd  
><strong>I<strong> will soon join the angels,  
><strong>R<strong>ejoice for it is  
><strong>S<strong>oon._

_**S**ure I may seem_  
><em><strong>H<strong>appy and calm,_  
><em><strong>E<strong>ven to those I am close to,_  
><em><strong>R<strong>eally, I am sad,_  
><em><strong>L<strong>ost and lonely, I_  
><em><strong>O<strong>nly leave apologies, and a_  
><em><strong>C<strong>old body while I_  
><em><strong>K<strong>indly float to the sky._

Sherlock clapped his hands together exclaiming, "I am on fire!" whilst running upstairs, hoping to find a clue.

What he found was definitely NOT a clue.


	9. The Name Game Part 4

**AN:** Hehe, I love seeing all the reviews :) I love you guys and I just want to do a shoutout to **V. Evergreen**, **Daddy'sHadEnoughNow** and **thisisforyou** because they're awesome :) I apologise for any factual inaccuracies, I tried my best to research u_u;

It's the end of The Name Game :) Next chapter will be fluffy.

* * *

><p><strong>CHAPTER 9<strong>

The room upstairs was by far the coldest and the darkest of them all, but a sweet smell masked the stench of the corpse below. It was large and almost empty, except from a chair in the corner, and on that chair was a man. Sherlock approached the chair cautiously as he was unable to identify who it was in the low light, but it was evident that the man was the source of the sweet scent. As he drew closer, he could hear the muffled sound of laborious breathing.

"Who is it?" Sherlock asked, he had deduced that there was no hostility,

"...!" The man tried to cry out, but no words formed - only a weak wheeze. Sherlock stood close to the man, and untied the cloth around his mouth and placed it in his pocket,

"Sherlock!" He spluttered. It was John, and John had never been happier or more relieved to see another person.

"John!" Sherlock embraced John with relief, and quickly took him into a brighter room to inspect the damage done. The sweet scent intrigued Sherlock as it lingered on John. Sherlock swiped a sample from John's face, who blushed slightly as he did so, and tasted it. The deduction did not take long, Sherlock had already been told what it was beforehand. It was antifreeze. Panic struck him like a thunderbolt, but he kept a calm exterior, so as not to arouse suspicion from John. He breathed heavily and his soft eyebrows furrowed, "Are you all right?" he asked with a small smile,

"Don't worry, I've had worse." He chuckled unconvincingly as he tried to make it down the stairs. He didn't want to worry Sherlock any more, so he carefully placed each foot in front of the other. Focusing on his feet, John soon found himself off the ground as two long, graceful arms carried him. As he looked up, whilst trying to orientate himself, he was met with the sight of the same stoic expression on his roommate's face. It may have been the dizziness getting to him, but he couldn't help but wrap his arms around Sherlock's neck, and he never wanted to let go. Sherlock felt the same, but the heart aching fear of what might happen to John stifled his joy.

Rejoining the rest of the police, the two were met shock, laughter and flash photography, "The prince returns with his princess," Anderson sneered,

"Oh shut up Anderson and do your flies." Sherlock jeered back, "Not everyone needs to know about your quick romp with Sally in the office." Anderson did as he was told, red with embarrassment.

* * *

><p>The flat felt empty now that John was recovering at St. Barts, but Sherlock was happy that the antifreeze was so dilute. As he inspected the words on the cloth that was on John's mouth previously, <em>Moriarty was here<em>. It reminded Sherlock of juvenilic graffiti that he had seen on the streets, and was written in a children's non-toxic pen._ "Why? And who is_ _Moriarty?"_

He stared.

and stared.

and stared.

Nothing came to mind after hours of thinking. Sulking, he left 221b and went to the hospital. He needed a break.

* * *

><p>John slept peacefully in the hospital, and he had a strange dream: He was in bed, and ill - exactly lie he was in his current wake, but he was in his own room. He enjoyed the familiarity of it and the sight of Sherlock by his side calmed him. The dream was so vivid he could almost take the peculiar concoction that Sherlock made not too long ago for him. He felt warm and happy and he - he kissed Sherlock, and attempted more. John woke up abruptly, realising it wasn't just a dream. It was a memory of when he was ill, and it had slowly drifted back into his mind. He finally understood Sherlock's recent icy behaviour.<p>

Unfortunately, John didn't have much time to come to terms with his action before the man that irked him had entered his room, "Sh-Sherlock, you didn't have to come," John said as he tried to keep his cool, but Sherlock's deductive ability pierced through is farce in an instant,

"Ah, it seems you've remembered what happened." Sherlock walked towards the chair adjacent to John's hospital bed, while the small patient stayed silent. "It's ok, you can pretend it never happened," Sherlock placed his hand over John's and smiled, while his heart ached at his own comment.

"Wait!" John exploded, "that's not your decision." He himself didn't know what he was saying, but the words came out nonetheless, "I.. I want to think about it. It happened didn't it?" he blushed profusely, "I'm not gay or anything, but I didn't mind the kiss..." he intertwined his fingers into Sherlock's rested hand and fiddled with them thoughtlessly as he became nervous, "Just... just give me time. Please."

Sherlock couldn't help but grin ear-to-ear, and he began to play with John's hand in return, "Thank you." He said with an unfamiliar sincerity

* * *

><p><strong>AN:<strong> After writing this I just found out that antifreeze is odourless. I'M SORRY u_u; just pretend it has a smell, for me? :3

Cheers :D


	10. The Stalking Detective

**AN:** It was intended to be a mellow chapter, but there is a little bit of drama. It's in a mostly Sherlocky point of view rather than John because... well you'll see why x)  
>Sorry about the lateness of this, I had exams x( - I haven't proofread this too because I didn't want to prolong it any more u_u;<p>

* * *

><p><strong>CHAPTER 10<strong>**  
><strong>

The weekend finally arrived and John was excited to finally have a day where he wasn't ignored, kidnapped or bedbound. He had just returned from the hospital and his relationship with Sherlock was improving. Of course, he had a big decision to make but for the moment he wanted to relax.

Sherlock was also excited at the baby steps that he and John were taking, he played a jubilant tune on his violin as he got lost in thought. It would not be long now until he could do all sorts with John, and he plotted how and where he'd do it - smirking devilishly as he did so. This weekend was focal for the two's progression, and he didn't want to waste it.

"Sorry Sherlock, gotta dash." John said as he hurriedly packed his essentials into his bag,

"Wait, what? What about lunch?" Sherlock asked in surprise,

"Gotta cancel it, something came up." He glanced in the mirror for a moment, and changed into another shirt. Without letting Sherlock reply, he took his bag and ran out of the door. The now lonesome roommate was about to run after him when he felt a slight dampness on the door handle,

_"Sweaty palms? Shirt-not a jumper, nervous, vague response, new shampoo, different hair parting and a lot of cologne. Date. Gotta be a date." _He pouted miserably at the thought of it, and a wave of boredom hit him, "Well, might as well follow him." He muttered to himself and he left not long after John. Of course, going out in his usual garb would not be suitable for stalking, or "roommate surveilance" as he called it, so he would have to wear something no one would expect him to wear; he left wearing a tracksuit, cap and sunglasses. He hated the texture of the synthetic fabric, and he despised how he had to wear his trousers at a height that flashed his boxers, but it was all for the greater good. Or at least he told himself that.

It was a cloudy day, and Sherlock didn't understand why people wore sunglasses in this sort of weather, but he carried on with his mission. John had entered Baker St. station. It was crowded with businessmen and travellers, so Sherlock had to fix his eyes on John like a hawk in order to not lose him - but he had already gotten good at that. The train wasn't too crowded luckily as it wasn't one of the more busy lines - Sherlock quietly hoped that John wouldn't change over to central. He hated the central line.

But he did.

Sherlock found himself stuck between masses and masses of people, but he was the lucky one: John, being as short as he was, was wedged in the middle of hot, damp armpits of people who were holding onto the bars above them. Although John was in such discomfort, Sherlock couldn't help but chuckle to himselfat the sight of it. Eventually the two left the train station, Sherlock still a couple meters behind him and. He followed John all the way into Chinatown, which was delightfully decorated with vivid red lanterns. As the street was filled with tourists, Sherlock had no trouble hiding himself as he watched John meet a girl, not much older than him, in front of a small cafe. Sherlock was filled with hurt at the sight of it, _"How could he?"_ He thought to himself, returning to 221b dejectedly.

He entered the flat and sulked on his armchair as the aching sensation of betrayal overwhelmed him. The flat was silent, except from the murmur of the TV as he stared at it blankly while he waited.

* * *

><p>It was late in the afternoon before John returned, and Sherlock had not moved at all. "Sherlock, what are you wearing?" He said, mouth agape at the sight of Sherlock wearing a tracksuit.<p>

"A tracksuit," Sherlock said as if it was normal, before shouting at the TV, "Of course he's not the father, just look at the turn up on his jeans!" John almost fainted,

"First the clothing, and now Jeremy Kyle!" John yelled, "What the _hell_ happened?" he turned off the TV, demanding attention from the gloomy roommate. He recieved no answer. "Sherlock!" John stood infront of him, and forced eye contact with Sherlock,

"None of your concern John," Sherlock snapped,

"W-what have I done now?"

"Oh, don't play dumb, I saw you with her."

"Her?"

"Yes, I never thought you were the type to cheat John." His voice was sharp and cold.

"Cheating?" His voice grew louder with each word, "There are two things that make that completely ridiculous!" He paused and rubbed his eyes, "First off, we're not going out, and secondly, that was my SISTER."

"Your sister?" A single eyebrow rose, "But you only have one sibling, and that was Harry,"

"Yes, Harry was short for Harriet." Sherlock's face was puzzled as he realised his simple mistake. Burying his face in his hand, Sherlock got up; he suddenly realised what he was wearing and was filled with a desire to change attire. As he removed his jacket, he returned to the main room,

"We're not going out?"

"What made you think that?"

"Th-the hospital..." His face blushed ever so slightly as Sherlock, for the first time, had a vulnerable expression on his face. He was genuinely hurt.

"I said I'd think about it." John said in a tone that came out a little harsher than he expected,

"Well, what do you think?"

"I don't know."

"For goodness sake John, stop being so indecisive, it's a simple matter, _yes_ or _no_?"

"I don't know!"

"YES OR NO?" Sherlock demanded, there was a silence as he waited for a response.


	11. The Failed Experiment

**AN:** Thank you all for staying with me for 11 chapters x) I thought I'd give you some action seeing it has been long and angsty.

* * *

><p><strong>CHAPTER 11<strong>

"YES OR NO?" Sherlock demanded. John briskly paced the room in silence; he couldn't make up his mind. He was panicking from all the pressure, and Sherlock just added to it, "WHAT IS IT?"

"NO!" John finally erupted, he massaged his temples briefly and sighed before turning to Sherlock, "I'm sorry Sherlock, I thought that I'd think about it because it's you, but I'm just not gay." He looked at Sherlock, who in return averted eye contact, the aloof man's armour was chipped and his dejectful suprise was clear,

"Well John, wouldn't it have been better if you just outed with that in the first place," his tone turned bitingly cold, "you know full well that I am an observant man and yet you led me on and taunted me with false hope."

"I'm sorry Sherlock, let's just be friends like before,"

"I don't have _friends_," Sherlock retorted before withdrawing himself into his room.

* * *

><p>John didn't sleep well that night; a mixture of guilt and uncertainty had welled up inside him. <em>"I know it was bad to lead him on"<em> he thought to himself, tossing and turning. His thoughts went backwards and forwards between his feelings for Sherlock and whether what he did was right. John, being a smaller framed male, had a few similar propositions from men, but Sherlock was the only one to make him question himself. _"So that means I'm gay for him? No. no. no no. no... no. I like women John, women_." He reassured himself. It was a long and arduous night.

He only managed a few hours sleep, and for the first time John was up before Sherlock. He took the golden oppurtunity to work on his reports for university. His tongue poked out ever so slightly as he concentrated on the keyboard, and he tapped preciously onf the keys. As he thought about his lab work, the thoughts from the previous night intruded more and more frequently. _"I'm not gay,__"_ he reconfirmed, but the thought would not leave. Checking his watch, he realised that Sherlock would not be awake for a while; it was only 6:30am. He sneaked over to Sherlock's door and pressed his ear: silence. Good. Again, he tiptoed across the living room and sat down on his desk again. His next move was a risky one, but he had to tell for sure whether or not it was true.

Opening up his browser, John quickly turned on private browsing and prepared for his "experiment". As he searched online for "adult" videos, it did not take long to find one that would suffice. The video started and the over-tanned and under-dressed nurses "played" with each other. As the moaning emitted from his laptop, John lowered the volume in order to not wake up the roommate and a wave of relief hit John as he felt his organ rise in his pants, wanting to escape its cloth prison. He slipped down his hands into his pants and stroked the throbbing member. His breathing paced and his erection grew harder,

"Enjoying the film John?" said a voice from behind, it was Sherlock, in his usual bedtime garb of just a sheet. "You know I very much doubt that those nurses are properly qualified, look at that grave misconduct." In any other situation John would've laughed, but with his hands in his pants and the laptop still running, he stared at Sherlock with absolute horror.

"Now John, you are a mean person indeed." He slowly approached the aroused male, "You said no, and now I see you've performed a little show for me." he bent down and whispered in his ear, "Now why don't you carry on enjoying the video," he said as he invaded John's pyjamas with his long dexterous hands.

"Wait what are-ahhhhh" John was interupted as Sherlock proceeded to help John's erection along. The film on his laptop, the sensation of another's hands and the sultry heat of Sherlock's hot breath on the nape of his neck led for a swift explosion of pleasure and John panted with relief.

"There you go." Sherlock said as he felt the hot fluid in his hands.

"What the HELL was that?" John roared at Sherlock,

"Just a bit of friendly aid my dear Watson. I mean that is what you want, for us to be friends?" He said with a sly smile, "Now must be off, I have mine to tend to." He said, strolling to the bathroom, his sheet falling and exposing his pale chest as he did so, as if it was a final tease for John.

"Shit," John mumbled, dropping his red face to the table, and shutting the embarrasing video. His session didn't reveal anything at all in the end.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: <strong>Sorry for not writing Sherlock's "session" in the shower, but I'm new to writing this sort of stuff and my brain is pretty frazzled now lol. Anyway, it would end up very similar to chapter 2 .

Now, I was about to call this chapter "The Adventure's of the Watson Bone." _(ACD Title: The Adventures of the Mazarin Stone)_ Was it a good move changing the title, or should I have changed it back? x)


	12. The Detective's Challenge

**AN: **Honestly, this chapter was mostly fanservice x) But John's thick facade is chipping away fast! I promise it won't be long now until the two are together ;D I'm sorry it's short, but I have 2 deadlines and an exam for next week :[ Afterwords, I'll try to write longer chapters.

* * *

><p><strong>CHAPTER 12<strong>

It was almost a week since John's "incident" with Sherlock, and it still would not leave his mind. Sherlock, however, seemed to be completely unaffected; in fact, he seemed better than ever, which seemed to agitate John slightly. "So you're gay then?" John asked as they ate breakfast in their kitchen - a common Thursday ritual for the two as both of their lecutres started later than usual,

"Not really," Sherlock replied, having the usual breakfast of just coffee,

"Straight? Bi?"

"It's not really my "area". Why? Are you interested?" Sherlock said with a mischievous grin,

"No, no. No. I was just wondering." John said, slightly embarassed from the remark. Leaving his seat, John opened the fridge, hoping to get a nice cold glass of orange juice. "JESUS..." he said, staggering back slightly and quickly closing the fridge,

"THERES A HEAD IN THERE SHERLOCK." He yelled, "IN THE FRIDGE."

"Oh, that reminds me, we must get some milk," Sherlock said, unaffected,

"A BLOODY HEAD!" John continued, ignoring Sherlock's mental note.

"You're point being?" He turned to John and raised an eyebrow, slightly amused by John's reaction.

"MY POINT!.." he took a deep breath and continued in a calmer, but still livid tone, "My point is that a fridge is for FOOD not BODY PARTS."

"Where else should I put it?" Sherlock's calm tone only fueled John's rage,

"WHY DO YOU NEED IT ANYWAY?"

"It's an experiment. I'm measuring the coagulation of saliva after death"

"Oh an experiment. Another BLOODY EXPERIMENT." He laughed frustratedly, rubbing his eyes, "Oh god, I'm not even surprised anymore. I doubt anything will surprise me anymore." Sherlock looked at John with an artful smile, and the two spoke in unison,

"Oh dear god that was NOT a challenge,"  
>"Challenge accepted."<p>

As Sherlock placed his hands together with glee clear on his face, John dejectedly sat back on his chair, dreading the roommate's next move.

* * *

><p>It had been over a week and John had eventually assumed that Sherlock had forgotten. Work began to pile up and John buried himself in his studies and whatever Sherlock may or may not have been planning, he had to focus on the more important things. John spent most of his days in the library and came home late in the evening; the stress of an upcoming exam took its toll on John and he quickly grew tired and weary.<p>

After a particularly long and difficult day, John trudged into the flat and found himself smothered in a thick, sweet, sugary scent. "EUGH" John exclaimed in shock, "What is this?" Althought not unpleasent, the potency of the smell was enough to cause nausea. It didn't take long to find the source of the smell as he stared with horror clear on his face. A layer of deep red jam coated the majority of the kitchen. He slowly approached it, while avoiding the floor spillages, and took a small sample from the countertop, "Mmmm... this is delicious..." he mumbled. _Had Sherlock made him jam? Was this the surprise?_ He smiled to himself and chuckled lightly,

"John!" Yelled a voice, it was Sherlock. "JOOOHN!" John turned to Sherlock's room and called back in reponse,

"WHAT?"

"HELP ME!" Sherlock cried, and John ran quickly towards Sherlock's room.

Inside the bedroom was a simpering Sherlock, wearing nothing except from jam which was poured onto his bare, white chest, and a jar that was filled with jam that covered up his manhood. "I've spilt jam on me, and I need someone to help me." He stared seductively at John and continued, "I thought you might be the man for the job."

John froze for a moment, before covering up his sheer surprise, "Nice try Sherlock. You haven't shocked me." he said with an awkward cough,

"Oh I wouldn't say that." Sherlock said, and all of the sultry atmosphere that surrounded him died down, and he made his way out of the room - without the jam pot. The eyes of the smaller roommate couldn't help but fixate onto Sherlock's "equipment" for a brief moment,

_"_My god._" _escaped from under his breath, but John's attempt to hide his astonishment was quickly seen through by the roommate's keen eyes. The jam was uncomfortable on Sherlock's chest as it was still quite warm, but he made no show of it. As he exited the room, Sherlock crossed John's path, and spoke seductively in his baritone voice, "I guess I'll have to wash off this _st__icky, sweet jam_." As he watched John turn away his gaze awkwardly, Sherlock couldn't help but feel mild glee as he strolled into the shower.

With Sherlock's back now infront of him, John finally fell to the floor as his heart raced and his hot, red face in his hands, _"No John."_ He thought to himself, resisting the confusing emotion, _"That was just plain unfair."_ Sherlock peeked through the side of the bathroom door, excitement filled him as he saw his roommate's response and he merrily cleaned up the jam, knowing it was a job well done.


	13. The Woman Part 1

**AN: **Sorry about the lack of updates, I've been drowning in work D: Anyway I hope this chapter will make up for it ^^ (Key word being *hope* ^^;)

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><p><strong>CHAPTER 13<strong>

The next 2 weeks were filled with more and more of Sherlock's attempts to "get" John, although he felt amused at first, the upcoming exam had stressed John out completely and he began to grow annoyed at his roommate. On one particularly tiresome day of work, John had been pushed over the edge,

"ARGH SHERLOCK JUST LEAVE ME ALONE FOR ONE MINUTE." John said as he woke up from his nap on the sofa to Sherlock, who was unbuckling John's belt,

"Just try it," Sherlock replied, "I'm sure you'd love it."

"I'M NOT GAY SHERLOCK!" John yelled as he pushed Sherlock's prying hands away, "AND I WILL NEVER EVER GO OUT WITH YOU, SO GIVE UP!" A look of genuine hurt appeared on Sherlock's face, and a pang of guilt filled John's chest. The long, dexterous hands pulled away from John's belt and Sherlock stood up,

"Sorry, you're right." A pitiful smile appeared on his face and he withdrew himself into his room.

_"Maybe I was a litle harsh.." _John thought to himself, _"But it's best I told him... right?"_

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><p>John spent almost the whole of the next week in the library as his exams drew nearer and nearer. As he filled his mind with disease mechanisms and treatment among other things, he though less and less of his quarrel with his roommate. Sherlock himself also grew more and more apathetic and stopped his forceful advances on John, who came home earlier as a result.<p>

Sitting on the dining table, John tapped away onto his computer slowly and carefully, sticking his tongue out slightly in concentration. A clanking sound and a savoury scent emitted from beside his laptop where Sherlock had placed a plate of chicken curry.

"For me? Are you trying to seduce me again" John queried in surprise,

"It's just takeaway. Don't flatter yourself," Sherlock retorted with a cold sneer, which unexpectedly hurt John. He preferred Sherlock when he was mischievous and a little bit annoying; he seemed more genuine. But he did ask for it, I was for the better - _right?_

The uncomfortable silence of which the two had been eating in was disrupted by a distinctly pleasurable moan of a woman, which was followed by the aloof expression on Sherlock's face turning into one of dismay. He took his phone out of his pocket,

"What was that?"

"My... phone," Sherlock's tone was weary and he eyed his phone for several minutes before leaving the flat.

Days passed, and Sherlock didn't return. Regret and fear and guilt and concern all swirled in John's mind as he waited for his precious roommate. John completed his exams after two days of Sherlock's disappearance and he took a more active approach to locating Sherlock, but John didn't really know much about Sherlock's hobbies other than science and violin, but he dashed around London whenever he could, even though he knew for certain nothing would come out of it. It was another three days before anything happened.

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><p>John had been tucking into cereal as he cautiously watch the breakfast news, hoping for some sort of clue towards Sherlock's whereabouts, when a short, quick buzz of the doorbell caught his attention. He looked in the mirror to check his appearance: he looked atrocious. Scruffy, unkempt hair, paired with a stubble and dingy PJs didn't really shout "maintenance", so he smoothed his hair down and tied up his dressing gown in hopes to partially mask it. Opening the door, he was met with a stranger's face.<p>

"Where's Sherlock?" She asked, or rather demanded. She was a fairly tall, beautiful woman with brown hair that was in a perfect updo. Delicate pearls draped across her neck and her clothed just screamed "rich". She looked a little bit older than the two roommates, but the well-applied makeup may have masked a couple extra years.

"I- I don't know,"

"Don't play games with me. He lives he doesn't he? I know he does, so bring him here."

"I said I don't know, he's been gone for days. Even if I did know, I wouldn't tell any old person who shows up, and especially not you." He said with scorn.

"Ooh, he's bagged himself a loyal one." She mocked with a sneer, "You must be John, or so I hear."

"How do you know who I am? How do you know Sherlock?" John said, irking at the sound of his own name. Her smile grew and she brushed her hand on his cheek, and he jolted uncomfortably as she did so,

"Oh, he hasn't mentioned me? Irene? No? How sa-"

"ANSWER THE QUESTION."

"How rude." she tutted, before returning to her smirk, "Well, I'm his first." The response abraded John, "I knew what he liked, fucked him, and got information on his brother," her tone was cold and unfeeling, "for protection." He swatted her hand away, and was filled with resentment,

"How could you." He scowled at her with a look more fierceful than any he had shown before, "What the hell do you want with him now?" he said with gritted teeth,

"I want him for keeps, now that I've tied up some loose ends," John shoved her onto the wall, tugging on her necklace and glared at her,

"You better not lay a finger on him." he said full of meaningful threat,

"Ooh, forceful, I like it." She jeered, and chuckled playfully, "I really doubt you'll do ANYTHING." She said as she raised her phone, "I've got protection." Her tone was calm, yet full of malicious intent, "and I know he'll say yes, because he still feels towards me whatever is the Holmes' equivalent to love." John let go of his grip and stood there helplessly as she made herself at home. John was alone with the despicable woman for until late in the evening, when Sherlock eventually returned.


	14. The Woman Part 2

**AN: **FINALLY x) The real Johnlock chapter ^^ After 14 chapters they finally do it! :D I hope I haven't disappointed x

(Sorry thisisforyou ^^;)

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><p><strong>CHAPTER 14<strong>

Sherlock silently entered the flat late in the evening, and was welcomed with the giant murmur of the TV. Although quiet, John noticed his appearance and ran to him, "SHERLOCK!" He yelled in relief, and Sherlock smiled weakly in response as his small roommate embraced him tightly,

"My little detective," Irene said, pouting like a sulking child. Both roommates abrubly stopped their embrace and Sherlock's face showed pain and weakness, something tha John had never seen before.

"Irene." Sherlock said with a polite nod.

"John, could you give me and Sherly some alone time?"

"No, he can stay," Sherlock protested,

"It's alright, I'll go." He said, entering his room, and blocking out the sound with earphones that pumped out Motown classics from his Ipod,

Irene and Sherlock sat down on the dining table in silence for a moment or two,

"I want you back Sherlock." She said matter-of-factly,

"No." Although his voice was suddenly meek, his answer was definite,

"Why? Because of John?" She mocked, "I told him about us Sherlock, and do you know what he said?"

"W-what?"

"He said you were used goods, spoiled and _unwanted_." Her piercing tone seemed to get to Sherlock, the woman had always been unreadable to him and he couldn't read through the lie. He was filled with the sudden overwhelming sensation on solitude and anguish, and the woman sat there confidently - watching him suffer, "Oooh, I don't like seeing you suffer," She said, stroking his chin. This lie was more seethrough than the other. She stood up and made her way to the door, "I'll let you digest this, and I'll be back in two days to pick you up for dinner." She winked, and left as suddenly as she came.

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><p>The first day without Irene was particularly uncomfortable, John found himself avoiding any sort of contact with Sherlock as the thought of Irene's "Protection" filled his mind, and ended up not seeing Sherlock for the whole day, even though he yearned for him. Sherlock only took this as further proof of what Irene had said, and he ached with sorrow. By the next morning, hunger struck John and he eventually emerged into the kitchen, only to be met with Sherlock.<p>

They stared awkwardly without a sound.

John quickly turned to make his way back into his room when Sherlock grabbed his arm tightly and tugged John towards him, "Is that is then?" Sherlock demanded, "Find out I've been fucked with and are sick of me already? Just used goods? Is that what you really think of me?"

"What are you talking about Sherlock?" John exclaimed with utter disbelief, "I would never think of you that way, your precious to me Sherlock, in fact I-I" he paused, suddenly realising what he was about to say, and Sherlock knew too,

"You what?"

"I... I think I may possibly love you." He mumbled embarrased and hiding the fact with words of uncertainty, even though a wave of clarity had hit him, Sherlock grabbed him joyfully and push his lips onto John's for a deep passionate kiss. It felt good and the tingling sensation in his trousers made John know he was making the right choice. The two embraced as their breaths intermingled and Sherlock made his way for John's pyjama bottoms; sliding them down with ease. The aready hard member longed to escape his undies too, and Sherlock helped it do so. He began to stroke John's developing erection, causing the small roommate to gasp suddenly as he did so,

"Sherlock..." John whispered in Sherlock's ear, helping his manhood rise also. He continued to stroke the member with increasing speed, and John could feel the knot in hit stomach build up. Sherlock could see the nearing release in John expression and let go of the weeping erection, and licked his fingers whilst looking at John mischievously, "What are you looking _ahhhhhhhhh_" John was interupted by on of Sherlock's slender fingers entering him gently, wriggling gently and locating his prostate. As Sherlock brushed it gently, John's knees shook with the sensation and Sherlock eventually made his way to inserting three digits. As all three fingers pushed the prostate vigorously, John buckled and fell to the ground, on top of Sherlock, whose fingers withdrew from the tumble. "I- I want you Sherlock." John panted, no longer caring about his pride, and giving himself up wholeheartedly to the roommate beneath him. Sherlock carried John with deep look in his eyes and his baritone voce full of seductive vigour,

"As you wish." He said with a sincere smile. Sherlock placed John on the sofa and climbed on top of him. He placed his shaft infront of John's twitching entrance and eased his way in. John yelped at the suddenly knew sensation, and although it stung, he was soon filled with pleasure,

"Move." John demanded between heavy breaths, and Sherlock eased his throbbing member in further and built up a steady rhythm. With each thrust Sherlock hit John's sweet spot, causing his legs to undulate wildly, "Hnnnn, yes Sherlock." He moaned pleasurably, only making Sherlock more turned on. The two carried on with their clumsy and hot and sulty sex throughout the morning, and fell asleep until the evening.

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><p>John woke up first, and buried his face in his hands <em>"We had sex on the living room sofa."<em> He couldn't help but also feel childish glee that Sherlock was "his" for now, and that he knew what the new feeling inside was, and he loved the peacful look on Sherlock's face as he slept. Subconciously, he found himself stroking Sherlock's hair and he inhaled the sweet scent oh his shampoo mix with the remnant scent of their actions beforehands. The two continued to sleep until the doorbell rang incessantly. The two woke up abruptly and dashed for clothing, "ARGHSJKAHDGKSA" John yelled as a sharp pain erupted from his back, "Fuck Sherlock." Sherlock quickly aided John in dressing up before sorting himself out, and he made his way to the door,

"Hello Irene," he said calmly. She sniffed and recognised the scent in the room,

"Hel-lo Sherlock" Irene greeted, "Seems you've been busy while I was away," she smirked, "Who with?"

"John." Sherlock replied triumphantly,

"John?" She said, with genuine surprise, "Did he take you then?"

"No, I took him." A sneaky smirk was clear on his face, and in the background were the distance protests of John, who's voice was slightly raspy from the previous moaning,

"Oh, I didn't know you were bi Sherlock,"

"I'm not."

"You're not?"

"John's the only person out ther for me. Male or female,"

"Oh." Irene replied dejectedly, the dissappointment clear on her face, "I know when I've lost Sherlock," she admitted, "Tell John I say "Hi"! Oh, and the minute you fuck this relationship up, I'll still be here," She winked at him, before going for the last time in what would hopefully be a while. When her car grew out of sight, Sherlock buckled to the floor with relief,

"The woman has finally gone" he mumbled to himself.


End file.
